Name Games
by I love music
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy has a lot going against him at Hogwarts. Most of all, his name...
1. Chapter 1

_Some parts of this story may be AU._

*****chapter 1*****

"A _what?" _Scorpius asked.

"You heard me perfectly well, Malfoy."

Several nearby students who, until now, had been ignoring the argument between two newbie first years, no doubt about who ate whose chocolate frogs, or who'd broken their promise to sit next to someone on the Hogwarts Express, swivelled round at the mention of the name. Though of course, they remarked afterwards, it should have been obvious who he was. White blond hair,silver-blue eyes pale skin and pointed nose and chin were characteristic features of the notorious Malfoy family. This kid's face, however, was a little more rounded than his father's, and so he'd slipped by unnoticed. And the older students knew – they _knew _they should quell the dispute before it got any more heated, but, Hell, this was a _Malfoy! _The first Malfoy to step inside Hogwarts hallowed halls since the infamous Draco. It would be interesting to see how far a Malfoy got with calling anyone a Mudblood these days.

"Why in Merlin's name would I call your Mum _that," _the young Malfoy was saying; "when I don't even know who _you _are?"

"_I'm_ Rose Weasley." The fierce Gryffindor with the long frizzy red hair had a challenging look in her brown eyes now and a small grim smile played on her lips. "My Mum's name is Hermione Weasley. You know, formerly _Hermione Granger."_

"Pleased to meet..." Scorpius extended his hand, but Mad Girl kept her arms firmly folded across her chest, and so he shrugged and thrust both hands into his robe pockets instead.

"So go ahead. Go ahead and _dare_ say my Mum's a Mudblood and_ we'll_ see what happens next!"

"No hexing." They both looked towards the quiet, spectacle-wearing boy who'd spoken, Rose with a withering glare, Scorpius with curiosity. He recognised the boy from the train station. He and Mad Girl had been among the large group of people Dad nodded to briefly when the smoke momentarily cleared. And he recollected, too, that the Sorting Hat had been torn between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff before placing him in Hufflepuff. But for every Sort there had been so much noise, applause, cheering, foot stomping and "brouhaha", as one of the Hogwarts' professors interestingly put it, observing that the first years were a particularly lively bunch this year, that it had been difficult to make out anyone's name without straining your ears to listen. Which Mad Girl obviously had because she'd stared long and hard at Scorpius after the Sorting Hat placed him.

"They warned us no magic first week at Hogwarts or fifty points deducted," Spectacles Boy reminded her. "Come on, Rosie. Give the guy a chance. It's only fair."

Rose snorted impatiently at her cousin Albus Potter and she and Scorpius returned their full attention to each other.

"So..." Scorpius frowned, carefully mulling over the recently gleaned information. "Rose Weasley. Hermione Weasley. Hermione Granger..."

Dad had told him to make friends as soon as he started at Hogwarts but it was proving much more difficult than Scorpius anticipated. Draco Malfoy said not making genuine friendships was where he'd gone wrong, that he'd been an _"arrogant little jerk" _until he did a lot of growing up in his last year or so _"when it was way too late to fix things"_. Scorpius would have laughed at the ridiculous idea of his Dad ever being an arrogant little jerk if his expression hadn't been so solemn and if his eyes hadn't seemed to shine with the same suspicious brightness Scorpius noticed when Granny Narcissa died. But then Dad looked away, to say something to Mum, and the steam from Hogwart's Express thickened again so he couldn't be sure.

Mum pulled him in a last tight hug and Dad placed his hands on his shoulders one last time as the scarlet engine hooted warnings for passengers to board.

"Some students," his father said in an unfamiliar tight, choked voice, glancing quickly at the train and back at his son, "won't like you when they know your name's Malfoy. That's not because of you, that's because of me. Remind them of that. You're a good kid, Scorp. Hold your head high. I don't care if your House wins the Cup every year, whether you make the Quidditch team, get brilliant grades. 'Course all that _would_ be great so maybe I'll just break the law and cast The Cheating Charm..." he chuckled for a moment, then his expression was grave again. " Don't isolate yourself, Scorp. Just...just make friends at Hogwarts, yeah?"

Hordes of kids were milling round, vanishing and re-appearing through the thick grey steam, in a crazy mixture of laughter, screams, cloaks, wands, hooting owls and parents' last-minute instructions. Scorpius was bursting to be among them. Being educated at the same muggle school Mum taught at, he wasn't allowed to reveal his wizarding heritage or practise magic. He'd been looking forward to meeting other wizards and witches his own age.

But nothing had gone how he planned.

First, to his dismay, he fell asleep on the Hogwarts Express. How he slept amid the racket, he never knew, though Mum often remarked he could sleep through a hurricane, ten marching brass bands and a wizard war all happening at once. He remembered finding, tucked away in a corner, a tiny empty carriage half hidden amid the bigger carriages that were spilling over with students, then setting down a small bag – his trunk had already been loaded – and waiting expectantly for the door to open. The next thing he remembered was waking up as the train pulled in at the station. His carriage was still empty. Maybe nobody noticed it. Maybe they saw the name Malfoy on the bag and avoided it. Maybe somebody thought it would be fun to play a Deepsleep Slumberspell on him. He reddened. That wouldn't do much for his street cred at Hogwarts. Even some five-year-old wizards and witches knew how to ward off Deepsleep Slumberspells.

Still, Scorpius was nothing if not an optimist.

The Sorting Hat had placed him in the new House, Columbidae, and he couldn't wait to Owl his parents with the news. Slytherin, Mum and Dad's old House, didn't exist anymore. Hogwarts had decided to close it down and open a brand new House after the Second Wizard War. Someone called Harry Potter won and someone called Voldemort lost, and it all had something to do with some wizards wanting power over some other wizards, Scorpius knew vaguely. History, both muggle and wizarding, was his very weakest subject and he never listened to it. He often argued that he didn't see the point in reliving the past.

"So we can learn from mistakes," Dad had explained.

Scorpius sighed at the time showing on the muggle clock and at the thick muggle history book which his father was using to coach him on muggle history after he'd just come bottom in the class test. They had a lot of muggle stuff in their home. Some of it had to do with the Malfoys losing a lot of money after the the Second Wizarding War, but Scorpius had a feeling most of it was to do with Mum and Dad wanting him to know about muggles. But even though he had a few muggle friends at school, he was a wizard at heart. He gazed at the sunshine lit window, yearning to be out there flying on his broomstick, trying to beat his previous height and speed, and he wondered whether to throw a sneaky distracting spell. But Dad was no fool. He'd suss right away that he'd been hexed.

"Well, people keep fighting each other," Scorpius observed succinctly. "So that proves nobody learns from history."

"Some do," Dad had said quietly. "That's why Slytherin closed down."

The Malfoys kept up with wizarding news via a regular order for a wizarding newspaper which the owl brought each month. They knew Columbidae had opened four years ago, one and a half decades over the Ministry's estimated time of completion. There had been a great many rules and regulations for the Ministry to wade though, certain pureblood wizard families filed lawsuits, costs escalated and the Ministry department dealing with it all proved extremely inefficient. The Sorting Hat, impatient with the Ministry's mistakes, had sulked for a while and refused to sort anyone, on one memorable occasion deliberately banging itself against the walls of the Great Hall, and on another whizzing through Hogwarts at breakneck speed.

At last a Council of War and Peace was set up, consisting of the Sorting Hat, representatives from the Ministry, Hogwarts and the wizarding community, several established ghosts of the school and a few specially invited ghosts who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Moaning Myrtle had threatened to bring the new House to an abrupt end before it began because she screamed she was sick of Fred Weasley's jokes and would rather die than listen to any more. The Ministry officials then wasted more time by insisting on appointing four Ministers, three knights, two portrait people and a centaur to discuss whether it was possible for someone already dead to die, which made Myrtle scream and moan all the more, and led to the Sorting Hat's second protest.

But eventually things settled down, the Pool of Thoughts were collected, magicked and poured into The Sorting Hat. It was agreed the symbol of the new House was to be a white dove, its colours snow white and sky blue, and its values peace, wisdom, free thinking and a sense of humour, the latter being Fred Weasley's particular contribution. The old Slytherin common room had lost its eerie greenish glow and was now much brighter with blue-white hues though Fred played a SeeWhatIsn't trick-spell before he left and for two hours afterwards everyone panicked about the room being a constantly changing riot of uncontrollable colours that ran into one another like a river.

Scorpius had been delighted to learn he was to be in Columbidae. It was, he felt, the perfect choice. He'd do anything for a quiet life so he wasn't brave like a Gryffindor; he certainly wasn't noted for his brains like a Ravenclaw and he had an adversity to hard work so being a Hufflepuff was definitely out. Columbidae seemed a nice, easy kind of House where he could go with the flow of school life without putting himself out - though the wisdom value _was _a little worrying. Like every selection, the applause that greeted him as he took his seat at his House table was deafening, drowning out all else. He felt he really belonged in Hogwarts.

And now, just when he was on his way to Owl his parents, Mad Girl stopped him with her list of names. Scorpius leaned back lazily and half closed his eyes.

"Rose Weasley. Hermione Weasley. Hermione Granger," he repeated, pleased that he'd remembered. "Mudblood," he finished, opening his eyes fully again.

Too late to dodge Rose Weasley's fist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **_J K Rowling has also complained about sexually explicit Harry Potter fan fiction. However, lawyers on behalf of Ms. Rowling specifically noted that she has "no complaint about innocent fan fiction written by genuine Harry Potter fans."_

Most of the characters in, and the basic idea of, this fanfic belong to J K Rowling and the story conforms to her wishes about fan fiction.

Many thanks for your reviews, sparkie926, Avengers4EVER, libbypotter and Barricade Butterfly. I'll try and explain more about the new House, Columbidae, later in the story. :)

*****chapter 2*****

*****Astoria*****

"Scorp was nervous. I hope he's okay," Draco said, dusting himself down as they apparated back home. Even after all this time he never could bear to get his robes dirty, and he still preferred to look impeccable whenever he could.

"Oh, he will be," his wife confidently replied. "I cast a Deepsleep Slumberspell. Not the actual wand spell of course. I worked out nine left wand twirls and twenty-two right would be just enough to relax him without actually putting him asleep, then I mixed it in potion form and let it stand overnight to weaken it," She chattered on happily, busy shaking a smoothshine through her long hair to get rid of the smell of train smoke, and not noticing her husband's face. "Then I drank it this morning and whispered it in his ear when I gave him that last hug so he didn't suspect a thing."

"Astoria!" Draco was staring at her, horrified. "That's the completely wrong calculation for the wand twirls! And what you did doesn't _weaken_ Deepsleep, it _strengthens_ it! You've not only put Scorpius _in_ a deep sleep, you've put him out of step with time so that he and all his belongings are at this very moment _invisible!_ In fact, judging by when you cast it..." he ignored the muggle clock and gazed out at the sky, working out shadows, clouds, sunlight and weather rhythms "...and the strong possibility of rain, he probably won't begin to appear again until shortly before the Sorting."

"Oh, poor Scorpius!" Astoria was stricken. Her hand shot to her mouth and she paled, her skin tone rivalling the large portrait of Narcissa Malfoy that hung above the fireplace, as she sank guiltily into a wing-backed easy chair, one of the few more luxurious items of furniture left over from Malfoy Manor's grander days.

Draco ran his fingers through his now thinning hair, hesitant to console her. It wasn't that he didn't love Astoria. He _genuinely_ cared about his wife and son, but he had been brought up to believe emotion should always be hidden away lest the enemy detect weakness and gain the upper hand. Except there were no enemies these days. Not strictly speaking. So he knew it was quite alright to show more tender feelings without fear of a wand striking him in the back. It was just..._sooo_ damn hard overcoming the initial uncertainty about it not being the done thing in pure-blood circles.

And then tears sprang to Astoria's eyes and tugged at his heart.

"It's okay, Tori, it's okay. Scorp will be fine when it wears off. He won't even remember the journey." He sat on the arm of the chair and rubbed her back gently, pleased when the words and action elicited a small smile. It never failed to amaze him how good her smiles could make him feel. Nor how he had ended up marrying someone he once despised. And even learnt to love her.

Astoria Greengrass had barely registered on his radar in her first few years at Hogwarts, partly because she was three years younger, mostly because he was far too busy bringing the so-called Golden Trio to heel and being the great Draco Malfoy, destined for power and glory as a Death Eater. Despite being of pure-blood stock and from a particularly noble and ambitious wizard family, she was by far and away the quietest member of Slytherin House. Her older sister, Daphne, regarded her as an embarrassment and wanted nothing at all to do with her and there were even unconfirmed rumours that she thought mudbloods should be equals. His earliest memories of Astoria were vague although he did recollect she was good entertainment value as she was inevitably being hexed by someone.

Her first term, her classmate Oscar Cashstone had remarked the Sorting Hat definitely had an off day when it placed Mouldy Greenteeth into Slytherin. Draco had snickered along with the rest, enjoying her discomfort when she fled from the common room, realising too late Oscar _didn't_ find her attractive as he'd been pretending to, and _wasn't _being attentive to impress her when he'd poured her a second glass of pumpkin juice at dinner. The nickname stuck throughout school even though the effects of the mouldy teeth wore off within the week. Occasionally, Draco too joined in the fun game of taunting Mouldy, but generally she was beneath his notice. Serve her right if she got hexed. Sometimes she'd be seen chatting with a half-blood or even a mudblood and Slytherins didn't tolerate blood traitors.

When his world came crashing down however, and he was tasked with killing Dumbledore, he noticed Greengrass a little more. After his father's fall from grace, while everybody else in Slytherin was disassociating themselves from the name of Malfoy, now and then she'd give him a look of..._sympathy. _Well, he had more pride than that, for Merlin's sake! Draco Malfoy did not need pity from a geek who didn't have any friends, thank you very much. Even though he didn't have any friends either.

But the first time he _really_ noticed Astoria was just after the Battle of Hogwarts. Greengrass had gone back and fought with Dumbledore's Army. Which had been no earthly use, as she never could point a wand straight, but at least she'd been brave enough to take a stand against the Dark Lord. Unlike himself.

Afterwards, dazed and confused, shocked, exhausted, jubilant, lost, relieved Voldemart was dead, terrified of a world where mudbloods rose to power, Draco sat between his parents in the Great Hall, absently watching Luna Lovegood shuffle along the bench to make room for Mouldy, some of the students clap her on the back, Professor McGonagall stop and offer her personal congratulations.

And the way the sunlight caught her hair.

A tiny flicker of shame burned within him that she had challenged Voldemart while he'd been afraid to, but he quickly extinguished it. Greengrass never had to choose between killing Dumbledore or having her family killed. Greengrass had never been forced to torture under threat of being tortured. Greengrass had it easy. Greengrass had...

...beautiful hair. It was long and dark and reached almost to her waist and cascaded over her shoulders like a fountain...

Yeh, well, who cared? Mouldy never had to hide out alone in the Room of Requirement or practise how to kill with poisoned mead and cursed necklaces. Mouldy had only ever had to worry about schoolwork and exams and being hexed. Mouldy had...

...a good figure. And, now he came to think of it, pretty brown eyes and a nice smile...

He pulled himself together. Like it was ever going to happen. After their defection, the Malfoy name was going to be, ironically, mud among pure-blood families.

Oddly enough, however, it _did_ happen. Thanks to their youngest daughter's inexplicable decision to fight _against_ the superiority of pure-bloods, Sir Walquint and Lady Amethelia Greengrass found themselves, as the news travelled around the wizarding world, in the embarrassing position of being boycotted by certain pure-blood families who, like themselves, had taken no part whatsoever in Voldemort's War, but who secretly supported it. And so they invited the three Malfoys to their latest ball, because they needed to make up the numbers, because even in reduced circumstances Narcissa carried elegance to perfection, and because they knew the Malfoys were rather desperate and would bite their hands off.

"_Dress Code: Formal; Best Wizarding Party Robes"_ the invitation glowed in large green and gold letters at the window of Malfoy Manor after arriving in a puff of smoke. They turned up at Greengrass Hall in their _only_ wizarding party robes - Lucius had lost a fortune in backing Voldemart and the Ministry of Magic had confiscated a great deal more in payment towards War damages – and still slightly startled that after three years they'd been invited anywhere.

Astoria was hiding out in a corner. "My family prefer me to keep a low profile and not dance," she explained. "They don't approve of me ever since I fought with Dumbledore's Army."

"So what are you doing these days?" he asked, keen to change the subject, and not remind her of the hard time he gave her back at Hogwarts. Wouldn't do to make any more enemies than the Malfoys already had. Which was pretty much everyone. Fortunately it looked like Astoria had forgiven and forgotten incidents like Draco hexing her into bouncing down the stairs because he was bored. She always was a soft touch, he thought smugly.

"Beauty consultant to pure-blood witches. I go to their castles and country homes to style hair and advise on cosmetics. I hate it. All the rich bi...witches ever talk about is how superior pure-bloods are. I think they only do it to annoy me. I'm a kind of pariah since I fought against Voldemort, you see. But Daddy won't employ me in his banking company because I'm terrible at Maths. I never could work out multiple wand spells or how many logarithms are required to create triangular mysteries...or is it triangular mysteries that create logarithms?" She frowned, and he barely choked back a mocking laugh at her confusion with simple wizard sums. "What's life been like for you at Malfoy Manor?"

He grimaced. "Not much fun. Mum's lost all interest in magic and the Ministry of Magic permanently banned Dad from keeping a wand so he spends most of his time conducting harmless experimental spells with a Child's First Wand - it's the only one they'll allow him – and complaining about it. I work from home, translating ancient wizard documents into the four modern wizard languages. Thousands and thousands of books, dull as death, but we needed money and nobody would employ a Malfoy so the Ministry arranged it as a reward for Mum lying to the Dark Lord and saving Potter. And Mum gets a small monthly pension from the Black estate so we just about manage."

They chatted easily for a while. Greengrass either had a very bad memory or didn't bear grudges so it looked like he'd gotten away with everything. Draco couldn't help smirking, his old arrogance resurfacing. It was a long, long time since he'd felt superior to anyone and it was a nice feeling. He knew he'd begun to talk down to Astoria, but, what the Hell, if Mouldy was that bad at Maths she was probably too dim to notice, and he needed an ego boost. He also knew he was incredibly handsome, with his silver-grey eyes and white-blond hair and girls were always flattered when he paid them any attention. So he laid it on thick while admiring his incredibly handsome reflection in the ornate mirrors opposite, confident Astoria Greengrass would soon be a giggling, simpering idiot. But when he stood to fetch a couple more butterbeers his feet felt like they were stuck in treacle, his arms whipped up into the air of their own accord and Draco fell flat on his face. Hoots of laughter from the party guests followed the stunned silence as he picked himself up, his face red as fire.

Astoria smiled sweetly and he caught sight of the wand hidden behind her back. "Don't mess with me, Malfoy," she murmured so that only he heard. "I haven't forgotten Hogwarts and I'm no pushover. And fortunately I didn't need arithmetic for that hex."

Her eyes flashed dangerously with the warning he'd met his match and suddenly he thought of it all again. His envy of her bravery, Luna Lovegood shuffling along the bench, McGonagall stopping to offer her personal congratulations. And he realised something. If he hadn't been too wrapped up in being his own biggest fan, he'd have opened his eyes to the fact he had a massive crush on Astoria Greengrass. He'd had a massive crush on her ever since that magic moment when the sunlight caught her hair. And he realised something else. For the very first time in his life, the great Draco Malfoy was in love with somebody other than himself.

**XXXXX**

Sixteen years later, husband and wife for thirteen of them, Astoria and Draco sat together worried about their only son. As the majority of parents who, that very day, had waved their precious young witch or wizard off to Hogwarts for their very first term understandably were. The trouble was, they had more to worry about than most. They both knew a lot more than most about bullying from both ends of the scale. And that Malfoy was definitely not the best name to own at Hogwarts to if you hoped to avoid it...


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for your reviews. Astoria's father, Sir Walquint Greengrass, is a very clever wizard, bordering on genius. Immediately the news reached him about Astoria, he cast, by distance, a spell of his own invention which ensured none of her supporters and members of Dumbledore's Army would remember her. (Being neither, Draco did.) He also pulled her out of Hogwarts and applied a curse which would cause harm to them and their families if she tried to regain contact with her friends.

**DISCLAIMER:** _Lawyers on behalf of Ms Rowling specifically noted that she has "no complaint about innocent fan fiction written by genuine Harry Potter fans."_

Most of the characters in, and the basic idea of, this fanfic belong to J K Rowling and the story conforms to her wishes about fan fiction. Some parts may be AU. Don't worry too much about the drama, I'm a huge believer in happy endings...eventually... ;D

*****chapter 3*****

*****Father and Son*****

To say Scorpius Malfoy adored his Dad was an understatement of massive proportions.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Scorpius got along with his Mum just fine. But the bond between father and son was _unshakeable._ He knew Dad hadn't gotten along with his own father, Lucius Malfoy, who'd died before Scorpius was born after being overcome by fumes from a magic experiment. Ironically, he'd only been using a Child's First Wand at the time, but the manufacturers hadn't banked on adult users who were old enough to buy extra-strength potions taking a shine to their innocuous product. Lots more safety precautions were put into place after that.

Dad told Scorpius he and Lucius _"had not always enjoyed the most harmonious of relationships"._ Sometimes Dad talked like he had a stick up his a**e, as one of his muggle friends remarked. Scorpius merely flicked the last of his bottled water at Jacob and rolled his eyes. Much as he adored his Dad, Malfoy junior never could see any point in fighting. It never solved anything. Besides sometimes Dad _did_ talk like he he had a stick up his a**e.

But even though he thought – no, _knew_ - his father was perfect there were things that began to bother Scorp as he grew older.

First off, Dad said he needed to warn him he hadn't been very well liked at Hogwarts because he was always showing off and picked on the other kids. _"An arrogant little jerk",_ as he put it. Now even though Mum backed this ridiculous claim – reluctantly – Scorp couldn't imagine _anyone_ not liking the most fantastic wizard to ever walk the earth or fly on a broomstick. And so, as there was nobody else around to ask (Granny Narcissa passed away when he was six and none of Mum's family ever visited or even sent World Wizzlewitch Day cards) Scorp invented his own version of events.

Dad's idea of picking on other kids was probably raising his voice in impatience during a hectic game of Quidditch, and as he was such a nice guy feeling bad about it afterwards. As for showing off, well, the Malfoy family had been vastly wealthy until the Second Wizarding War. If you always had the best of everything, it _would_ seem like showing off to those who weren't rich, wouldn't it? You had to hand it to Scorp. Like his muggle mates often said, when he defended his favourite footie team losing 15-3, or claimed he_ sooo_ did not fancy Katie Richards, he only _happened_ to be looking that way and smiling when Katie's head got in the way, he was pretty good at supplying answers that suited him better.

Second, his parents were not in touch with a single witch or wizard (which made Hogwarts even more appealing). Now that _could_ have been because nobody liked Dad in his younger days, but Scorpius preferred to believe it was because they led very busy lives. And, there you go, another answer that tied everything up quite neatly! His mates would have either fallen about laughing or applauded.

But the third problem, and the one that worried our young wizard most, was despite all the muggle stuff around their home - and even Scorp couldn't deny this though he did try to fit a few answers – Dad looked down his nose at muggles. And often Mum would have to nudge Dad's elbow, or give him a look, or whisper something that must have been some kind of code, because then Dad would draw a breath and make what seemed to be a huge effort – though he still spoke to muggles as if he was doing them an enormous favour by even acknowledging their existence. It was as if, Scorpius thought, he regarded muggleborns as an entirely different species that a great wizard like himself might step on by accident if they weren't careful. At least, Scorpius _hoped _it would be by accident.

And one time...well, Scorp wouldn't want me to tell you this, but, hey, you've walked this far with me so I figure you ought to know. So, yeh, one time when silver moonlight was stealing into Malfoy Manor, and there wasn't even the breath of a breeze to break the still night, it found silver tears trickling silently down his face. As though yesterday, when his father was perfect, was slipping away with the shadows that flitted silently across the walls. And it was sure it heard, though _how_ it heard I cannot tell, the first tiny crack of doubt pierce a trusting heart.

But this was _once._ One night before Hogwarts. Best we not dwell here too long. The dimming brightness of an idol came fast enough.

Fortunately, the muggles themselves, probably because they liked Astoria and Scorpius so much, instead of being offended by Draco Malfoy's arrogance, chose to find it all quite amusing. Obviously, they said, Malfoy had been filthy rich a long, long time ago, lost all his money and resented "slumming it" with the common folk. Because weekends, school holidays, and every chance he got, he would don his trademark black travelling cloak, and the Malfoy family would leave their three-bed semi in suburbia for his neglected mansion somewhere in the country. And what a pity that his pretty wife didn't take herself and that great kid of theirs and leave Dracula to stew in his own juice. (I'm not quite sure which muggle first came up with the nickname, but they all thought it so perfect, given his exceptionally pale skin, his superior air, his travelling cloak, and even the first four initials of his silly name - and was it his father's revenge that landed Scorpius with_ his? - _that at least three or four of them laid claim to the honour.)

As for Scorp – well, after that one weak night only the moonlight saw, Scorp pushed all niggling doubts to the back of his mind. He was good at doing that too. Instead he boasted about his Dad's job, though as he lived among muggles he couldn't say more than that he was a doctor working in a hospital in "another city".

Draco Malfoy was a Healer, based at the prestigious St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, though he never talked about his work, due to "patient confidentiality". It was Mum who told Scorpius it had been very, very difficult for him to secure a place on the training programme. But it was something he really wanted to do, and Slytherins, she said with a grin, were ambitious, cunning and resourceful, and so, after several rejected applications, he trawled through the hospital's history until he finally discovered a loophole which exempted him from any further refusals. Even then, despite his exceptionally high grades and ability with potions, she added, Dad was still never passed as a qualified Healer. That was, until he invented a potion which reversed many of the symptoms of Hurbyscurby, a distressing condition which affected many elderly witches and wizards, resulting, in its most severe form, a complete loss of magical powers and even death. Sadly, it had been too late to save Granny Narcissa, who died when Scorpius was around six years old, and whom he remembered as a beautiful, painfully thin old lady too weak to walk or talk. After Granny Narcissa's death, he saw tears glistening in his father's eyes. That was another mystery. Why did Dad rarely cry? And Scorp supplied himself with an answer. An eye problem. Couldn't be fixed or Dad, being a Healer, would've fixed it. Puzzle. Answer. Sorted.

Yet even after he invented the potion, Gunkeldownlight, from what Mum let slip without meaning to, Scorpius knew the majority of patients still refused to be treated by Draco Malfoy, and he still spent most of his time doing the most basic trainee Healer work, brewing up potions, filing case notes, casting spells to clean a room or move equipment around. Oh, Scorp had an answer for this, of course. Scorp always had an answer. It was probably his best yet. Draco Malfoy was so great that wizards and witches felt they oughtn't to bother him. And Dad wanted to give the other Healers a chance to prove themselves without always being in his shadow.

Forget one weak night of doubt.

Anyway, what was there _not_ to be proud of about his father? Okay, he_ did_ come across as being a bit weird and Scorp's mates often laughed at his eccentric habits. And, okay, he knew nothing about football, cricket, tennis, or any other muggle game, though he had been known, when his hospital shifts allowed, to come and watch Scorp in a footie match. Even though the very first time he turned up just after the game had started, and to Scorpius's great embarrassment and his mates' great amusement, cheered every time a goal was scored – and several were - as Scorpius had told him muggles did. Until his son explained at half-time that as goalkeeper _he_ wasn't _supposed _to be letting the ball in the back of the net.

Mum worked as a nursery teacher in the kindergarten block attached to Scorpius's school and fitted into muggleworld more easily. Tiny muggles didn't bat an eyelid if a toy flew into their hand with the flick of a wand because all tiny muggles believe in magic, and if Miss Astory (_none of the children could pronounce Astoria, and as they associated her with reading aloud to them, all were convinced Astory was her name_) if Miss Astory saw the world differently to older muggles, well, the tiny muggles didn't care because tiny muggles are always far too busy seeing the world differently themselves.

Happy enough as he was with his life, Scorpius couldn't wait to start Hogwarts. Muggle mates were all very well, but how cool would it be to meet other kids with magical powers? In fact, _anyone_ else with magical powers. His parents had no friends in the wizarding world, Dad's parents were dead and Mum's family blanked them. Several times, sometimes with Draco and Scorpius in tow, she would try to Apparate to Greengrass Hall, or to visit her sister, Scorp's Aunt Daphne and her family, but an invisible barrier always bounced the Apparation back. Often she Owled, but the owls were returned with the messages unopened. And every year, on World Wizzlewick Day, with Draco's help because it required a complicated mathematical formula, she baked Wizzlewick cakes, and Scorp was allowed to help put the different types of magic in each. Then, as tradition decreed, the cakes would be miniaturised and tied in a Wizzlewick bag attached to the Owl's leg. And every single year they were sent back uneaten.

So, yep, proud as he was of his Mum, Scorp was even prouder of his Dad. He often pictured himself at Hogwarts in his brand new wizard robes, standing with a group of other students as they chatted about their families.

"_My Dad? Oh, he's a qualified Healer. He discovered Gunkeldownlight."_

"_Wow! Isn't that the cure for Hurbyscurby?"_

"_My Grandad was really bad with Hurbyscurby. It got so he could barely hold a wand. He got most of his magical powers back after taking Gunkeldownlight."_

"_My great-aunt almost died of the disease. My great-uncle got the potion just in time."_

"_Your Dad must be..."_

"_He is." And he heard the gasps of admiration as he said it. "My Dad's name is Draco Malfoy."_

So now, here was, just as he'd pictured, wearing his brand new wizard robes, surrounded by Hogwarts students chatting about their families. But unlike in the imaginary scenario, where they'd always been friendly and impressed, for some reason these guys were...

...hostile.

Their glares burned into him like fire. He couldn't understand why. Maybe, being unfamiliar with witches and wizards his age, he'd crossed some line he should never have crossed. Still, he thought he'd better make an effort to take an interest in Mad Girl Rose Weasley and her family, Hermione Weasley, Hermione Granger, Mudblood. He even repeated the names to store them to memory.

And then the fist came unexpectedly towards his face and Scorpius staggered backwards, more in shock than pain. Rose being such a lightweight and half a head shorter, didn't pack much of a punch. It was more a shove than a blow and Scorp was more a peacemaker than a fighter. Especially where girls were concerned. He instinctively reached up to his mouth – he had a feeling she'd meant to aim for his nose but couldn't quite reach - and though he'd tasted no blood absently wiped the back of his hand across his lips. "Ri-iight! Well, my Dad's Draco Malfoy..."

And it was odd, but the sky darkened as he said the name. Perhaps the Glorious Swank, the invisible giant bird that supposedly makes its presence known by the sky turning black as ink, and that many say doesn't exist at all, really did fly past at that moment. Perhaps a thunderstorm was about to break. Perhaps a witch or wizard somewhere far away had just created rain clouds but wildly miscalculated where they actually wanted the spell to be.

Or perhaps a star fell so suddenly that it stole every dream.


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to all those guys who have put this story on Favourites and/or Story Alert and to sparkie926, Avengers4EVER, libby potter, Barricade Butterfly, "Guest" and evil taurian for your reviews.

******DISCLAIMER:** ___Lawyers on behalf of Ms Rowling specifically noted that she has "no complaint about innocent fan fiction written by genuine Harry Potter fans."_

Most of the characters in, and the basic idea of, this fanfic belong to J K Rowling and the story conforms to her wishes about fan fiction. Some parts may be AU.

*****chapter 4*****

*****Draco*****

To say Draco Malfoy adored his son was an understatement of massive proportions.

Draco's life changed drastically in 2006 when his son was born although other changes had begun much earlier. After the Second Wizarding War, the Malfoys settled into a curious kind of half-life and Malfoy Manor, as if it felt it ought to join in, settled into a curious kind of greyish gloom. Due to their last minute defection, they, especially Lucius, had escaped being sent to Azkaban by the skin of their teeth. But it was a lonely existence. For vastly different reasons, neither pro-Voldemort nor anti-Voldemort supporters wanted anything to do with them, and of course, being purebloods, the Malfoys wanted nothing to do with muggleborns so that left only themselves.

They had burned their bridges, Narcissa muttered sadly, as she selected yet another book from their library. Draco, who sat at the desk watching the quill move over parchment to write his latest translation notes, frowned, trying to remember a time when the Malfoys had set fire to _any_ bridges. Then he realised it was probably another of those peculiar muggle sayings. Mum had found dozens in a book entitled "Mugglespeak and Its Interpretation" and, whether or not Draco, Lucius, or even Narcissa herself, understood any, she quoted them as often as she could. Narcissa Malfoy read so many books nowadays that she had become an arm-chair expert on everything, from Antarctic ice floes to the natural habitat of the bowtruckle to the complete history of Quidditch. And apparently the muggle sayings all _meant _something to muggles, though why they couldn't just say something sensible like _"Thirteen wands never make a Triangular Mystery"_ or _"Hexexis as Hexexas is Hexexis"_, Draco would never know. But at least Mum had the books. That was something. The Malfoy family hadn't been left very much after War.

They could only stand and watch as the Ministry of Magic tore through their belongings to rip out the Manor's heart until, with a few exceptions, only essential or personal items remained. After removing all _"subversive literature" _the officials had allowed the Malfoys to keep their extensive library on the strict understanding that, too, would be stripped of its contents if any further Dark Art offences were committed. The final humiliation had been the two house-elves that were were assigned to them. Click and Rilla, specially selected by the Department of Elf because their unelf-like insolence made them unsuitable for anywhere else, were tasked with monitoring the Malfoy family's progress and reporting back each week.

The days fell into a pattern and their lives fell apart. Lucius, a vacant look in his grey eyes, used a Child's First Wand to conduct the same basic magical experiments over and over. Narcissa read in front of the fire, or walked in the manor's vast grounds, rejecting all offers of company, pacing alone for hours. Draco translated one batch of ancient wizard documents, Owled them to the Ministry and awaited the next. Click and Rilla, aware there could be no consequences, held regular feasts for themselves with or without leftovers, magicked their own elf music and danced round the kitchen at midnight, slept in till they pleased, and forgot to serve lunch so often that the Malfoys now fetched their own. The drawing room's gilded mirror, faded in the manor's grey gloom, reflected three figures who sat round a much smaller table to dine on much plainer food, pale, silent, defeated ghosts.

And then...Astoria.

Everything changed with Astoria. Without her, he never would have coped with his father's sudden death in a magic experiment soon after they began dating, with his mother's subsequent depression and as yet undiagnosed Hurbyscurby. They married in an unusually quiet ceremony, the total opposite of the razzmatazz and hundreds of guests that had marked her sister Daphne's almost Royal wedding the year before. Lord Walquint and Lady Amethelia Greengrass were still embarrassed by Astoria's anti-Voldemort stance in the Battle of Hogwarts and Astoria said she hated a fuss – though really she hated the type of people her parents wished her to associate with – while Draco had no friends to invite, and no money to pay for them even if he had. _"I suppose the only good thing is, he's a pureblood,"_ Lady Amethelia murmured to her husband, as the handful of guests, largely made up of the Greengrass family, made their way to the marquee for refreshments, Narcissa, looking vague, being led there by Draco and Astoria, who linked an arm each to stop her from wandering off in the opposite direction. It was far from being the wedding of the century that had been envisaged for the Slytherin long, long ago. Lucius was dead and Narcissa didn't have much idea of what was going on these days. And, as the world Quidditch final was the same day and the guests wanted to get back for it, nobody bothered to make a speech or toast the bride and groom.

Astoria carried on with her beauty business while Sir Walquint gave Draco a job in his banking company. It was boring and he hated every second of it, but the wizard documents translations had come to an end and despite his quick brain nobody else was going to employ a Malfoy.

And then one day, Astoria came home, actually managed to magic her box of beauty products upstairs instead of, as usual, miscalculating the spell and landing them in a tree or on top of the roof, or, as on one infamous occasion, in the middle of the lake on the Greengrass Hall estate, and announced she was going to be a teacher. A _muggle_ teacher.

Naturally, Draco thought it was a joke and smiled quizzically, waiting for the punchline. Astoria didn't bat an eyelid however. "There's a shortage," she said calmly. "So many were killed in the War."

It had been a terrible shock to learn the rumours that circulated when they were students at Hogwarts were true and Astoria really did have muggle sympathies. It was like...like discovering the Greengrasses were distantly related to house-elves or that Lady Amethelia had had an extra-marital affair and Astoria was a half-blood. Draco secretly thought it was very good of him to still agree to marry her under the circumstances.

He raised one eyebrow. "And how exactly do you plan to achieve this muggle...ahem...career? It may have escaped your notice, Tori, but we live in the wizarding world. We even recently celebrated World Wizzlewick Day – or World Wizzlewitch, if you want to use the modern parlance – which, I have to say,_ I_ most certainly don't because, having studied it extensively during the course of my research translating ancient wizarding documents, I can confirm that the whole concept of Wizzlewickian was devised as..."

"_Draco!"_ He suddenly realised his wife had said his name three times already, and it was _not_ a good idea to continue when Astoria was losing patience and likely to throw the quickest hex, which, if it involved arithmetic, as a few of the more modern ones did, might result, given Astoria's past record with sums, in him being accidentally transferred to a desert island and Tori not having a clue how to get him back. He sighed. It wasn't that he thought Astoria, mathematical ability aside, was thick, far from it, but he really missed showing off his knowledge and old habits were so hard to break. Being arrogant back at Hogwarts had been...fun.

"We're going to live among muggles," Astoria explained. "In a muggle house, in a muggle town, with muggle contraptions like televisions and fridges and telephones. So when our first little witch or wizard is born he or she won't care whether someone's pureblood or half-blood or muggleblood or, even if it existed, yellow-with-green-spots blood."

Draco stared at her aghast, deciding it was probably best not to show off his knowledge by pointing out, much as he longed to, that many centuries ago in the wizarding world there actually _had_ been a tiny insect-like creature with orange blood dotted with green_ (and_ lilac), that it had healing properties, and was used widely by an ancient order of wizards known as Tricornites due to their tricorn-shaped beards. If married life had taught him anything, it was that when his wife set her mind on something it happened. Muggles, though! It didn't bear thinking about. Astoria had finally convinced him that it was safe for a witch or wizard to breathe in muggle air without catching diseases, as he'd been brought up to believe they would, but...well, _muggles! _They were so much lower down the social order, so primitive...

"Because, by the way, Draco," she added, her face breaking into a large smile. "I'm pregnant."

**XXXXX**

Draco had been choked with pride when he learnt the future patronus of his newborn son would take the extremely rare form of the golden owl. New magic was being discovered all the time in the heady world of freedom that followed the death of Voldemort and lots more research had been done on how to contact patronuses. Since Dementors were now extinct and the number of Lethifolds dwindling rapidly, there was actually little need for them these days, other than as a novel form of communication, but many Mums and Dads still liked to know if their child would be lucky enough to have a guardian. And so Draco, like most parents, had ordered the Summoning Patronus Wand Powder, sprinkled it carefully around Scorpius and stood back, waiting to see if the tiny specks of silver would vanish into the air or take shape. The patronus, picking up on Draco's overwhelming happiness as he gazed at the sleeping infant, ignored the Wand Powder's ETA of between twenty seconds and thirty seconds to appear immediately, then lingered two minutes longer than the one minute which the Wand Powder's instructions absolutely insisted _"is-the-maximum-sighting-time-please-do-not-owl-us-with-messages-of-complaint"_. And that was when Draco decided to become a Healer.

He rocked back on his heels, stunned that the idea of being a Healer never occurred to him before. The Greengrasses had cut all ties in disgust as soon as their daughter and son-in-law emigrated to muggle suburbia – which, taking Draco's breath away with the speed at which things happened, had been just a handful of weeks after Astoria's announcement to him that they were going to – and he no longer had a job in Sir Walquint's banking business. Or any job at all. He was not having an easy time fitting into the muggle world and every attempt at muggle employment so far had ended in disaster. Plus, job or not, it was quite clear, though quite unbelievable to him, that muggles did not _like_ the great, the handsome, the highly intelligent, _the_ Draco Malfoy and were not impressed when he tried to educate them with his far superior knowledge. He did his best for Tori's sake, he really did, but he just couldn't quite take to such peculiar beings, who ought to have been grateful he even spoke to them.

They got by haphazardly on Astoria's salary as a muggle kindergarten teacher and the occasional translation work that the Ministry of Magic sent his way. But now they had a little wizard to support he needed something more permanent. And as he watched his baby son, his heart swelled with love and all he knew was that he wanted to make the whole world a better place for him. And that meant, by default, he had to try and make it a better place for everyone else. So he would. He would be a Healer.

It was one of those rare moments when Draco Malfoy, without even knowing he had, reached into his inner self and found a finer person.

**XXXXX**

Even to the very day Scorpius started Hogwarts, Draco still hadn't managed to fit in muggleland. It was a mutual lack of understanding. Draco thought muggleborns inferior while the muggleborns laughed behind his back at his "jerky" walk – truth to tell, it was the regal walk of a Malfoy, but they were too stupid to appreciate it – made remarks about dug-up corpses and sick-beds, asked _if-he-didn't-like-the-sun-and-ate-too-much-ice-cream-then_, and called him Dracula (stinging blue billywigs – Draco had a rich repertoire of swear words learnt from his father - if he hadn't promised Tori he wouldn't, and if it wouldn't have set a bad example to Scorp, he'd have hexed them to the hilt). But nor did he fit in the magical world either. St Mungo's did _not_ want a once aspiring Death Eater working for them so put every obstacle in his path until, after a great deal of checking out every avenue he could, he smugly turned up with a document containing a little-known rule which made it illegal for them _not _to accept him on their elite training course. Even then, it didn't matter that he was brilliant with potions; he was still marked down as "_not considered sufficiently trained to work without the presence of a qualified Healer"._ Which translated to _"never trust a Malfoy"_. Until, after years of research trying to find a cure for his mother's Hurbyscurby, he discovered, sadly too late to save Narcissa, a potion that began to reverse it. St Mungo's had no choice then but to award him his diploma. So now he was a qualified Healer. And nothing changed. Still nobody wanted to be treated by someone named Malfoy.

And so, on the very same day that Scorpius started Hogwarts and Rose Weasley, who had grown up listening to her father's stories about the prejudice of the pureblood Malfoys, took it upon herself to put Scorpius straight, it could be argued she was doing no more than following a long-established tradition...


End file.
